I’ve been sitting on this one for a while. It took place during my 2009 blog outage but I still find it worth discussing, if it helps just one douschebag cross over (does that even happen?).

I refinanced my house a few years ago. My mortgage guy seemed friendly and fun during our phone conversations. When I arrived for my closing, I was giddy with anticipation… I had even seen a headshot on his business card and it wasn’t scary (I was able to set aside the fact that he shared his name with a very famous infomercial personality).

When he greeted me at the bank…www.sadtrombone.com.

I know it’s totally superficial, but we all have limits that we operate in, spectrums if you will. I know when someone is out of my league, and I also know what I’m not able to tolerate in someone I date. These boundaries can be crossed on the rare occasion that someone’s personality is so fantastically awesome that the physical annoyances fade to the background. No such luck with this guy. He was lumpy, hunchbacked, snaggle toothed and had a big ole wedgie from his polyester pleated khakis. Not exaggerating, and yes, apparently khakis do come in synthetic wrinkle free, breathe free material.

Anywho, I signed my papers, shook his hand and left with a 5 pt lower interest rate. Then the texting started. Via text, he would invite me to do this or that and I would decline for one reason or another. Here is the crazy part, the random texts continued for over 13 months (again, I have no need to exaggerate. This shit happens to me). 13 months of texted date requests. 13 months of declines. On one random day though, he caught me at a very low point. I was having my yearly phase where I come down hard on myself for not giving people a chance and worrying that I will find myself rotting away or on a senior citizen dating reality show in 40 years (you know its coming), when one of his texts came in. I thought, “What they hay? It’s one date. A lot can change in 13 months. Maybe he’s been working out. Maybe he got braces. Maybe my memory is fuzzy…” So I accepted a dinner invitation…

Dear completely lacking self-awareness disrespectful text stalker,

I am sure you are thinking persistence pays off after I finally accepted your dinner invitation 13 months later, but I feel the need to point out a few things that took place during our date the other night…

  • You called me when 3 blocks from my home, to tell me that you had forgotten your wallet “in your buddy’s truck”  and unless I was cool with covering, you would have to drive the 45 minutes back to pick up said wallet (shame shame shame on me for not sending you away right then).
  • When we got to the restaurant, you ordered a martini… and a shot. Then continued the pattern 4 more times.
  • You immediately launched into the fact that you dated your secretary then fired her so you could marry her. Then complained that she didn’t have a job and didn’t even have dinner on the table for you when you got home every night, so you divorced her 6 months later.
  • You looked at me and said, “You are even hotter than I remember! You must think I am good looking too, if you agreed to go out with me.” (Dude, 13 months of texting.)
  • You told me your favorite places to go were Pangea and Qua and that you love places with bottle service (Dousche Beacon)
  • You looked me in the eyes and said, “I didn’t ever get a college party phase, so I am doing that right now.” (I’m in my thirties dammit)
  • After the miserable dinner, and after I paid for the dinner, (casualty of you being my banker and knowing my exact income), you piped up with “Hey, I just remembered! Do you mind if we stop by the Belmont before I take you home? I left my credit card there last night, I’ll buy you some drinks.” (OMFG)
  • At the Belmont, you immediately ordered a drink and insisted we sit outside on a rare cold Texas evening so you could smoke a cigar.
  • You then used this opportunity to try rubbing on me in an effort to “warm me up.”
  • When I told you I would appreciate you keeping your hands off of me, you responded with, “Obviously you’ve been hurt before. Don’t shut me out, I’m not going to hurt you. Let me in. Quit putting up a guard.” (Ewwww. Where does this utterly unwarranted confidence come from???)
  • Then, once you were a few more Mexican martinis into it, you started to pick up on the fact that I was responding to your every comment with disgust. To which you responded by motioning like you were shooting yourself in the head every five minutes.
  • I finally demanded that you take me home, informing you that I had to drive to Houston at 6am for work and you responded with “We’ll here is how I see it… we are going to be hung over either way. We should hang out for a few more hours and you’ll be a little tired on your drive. What have you got to lose?” (Um no, and thank you for being so supportive of my career)
  • Then when I insisted that I was leaving, you asked if I had any wine or beer at my house and could we just continue to hang out there? (Um still no)
  • When you dropped me off, you actually had the nerve to go in for some action. I pushed you away, got out and slammed the door.
  • You texted me 10 minutes later and said “I can’t believe you are running off to Houston tomorrow after such a great night. Can I see you when you get back on Saturday?”

No. You cannot see me on Saturday. And I am very sad that I now have to switch banks, but it’s really creepy that you have access to all my personal information.

My skin still crawls,

Jen

I know, readers. I am ashamed to share this because I should be teaching women to stand up for themselves and not let this type of behavior last past the wallet incident. We learn from experience and I’ve grown quite a backbone since then. Don’t waste your time. Don’t go through standards lowering phases because you don’t think you are worthy of the men you deserve. Don’t put up with being treated like crap. Don’t hang out with someone that makes your skin crawl. Trust your gut. It’s right… pretty much always.

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